I've decided to get rid of the flatmates. The novelty of them running around in their underwear has worn off after three months of constant cleaning... they are filthy. I've asked them on numerous occasions to buck up but they still don't know where the hoover is kept... "just tell us what to do," they whinge. Why should I have to tell them?
It was an accumulation of reasons that has finally led me to eject my two temptresses. Lola warned me from the beginning telling me that Brunette Flatmate was 'loud, vulgar, and primitive' whilst Bookshop Babe felt I was foolish to offer so much in return for so little. They were right. A well presented cleavage makes for a lot of leeway but the final straw came last Friday when I cooked for my lazy lodgers.
Poles have no table manners. Restaurants were almost nonexistant in communist Poland, only the occasional Bar Mleczny (milk bar), a no-frills cafe offering cheap dairy-based dishes. Despite having deeply rooted Jewish, Lithuanian, Ukrainian, Belarusion and Russian traditions, the people of Poland now prefer the dubious delights of cheap pizza, kebab and McDonalds which have opened in abundance. Lodz is the second largest city in Poland and there is only one decent restaurant which is closing due to lack of interest.
I've sat for the last eight years at the same dinner table as Poles and it is truly horrendous. They pile their plates high and scoop scran into their gullets like there's no tomorrow. They manage to talk and display every chewed morsel at the same time. They reach right across you if they need something from the far end of the table and napkins are not required. Courses come in random order, often the soup together with the main, and once the food lands on the table Poles do not hesitate and do not stop for breath. If you pause even for a moment then surly waitresses assume you have finished and take your plate from you, I have often had to fight for a half-eaten meal. There is no custom of putting one's knife and fork together when finished, indeed, there is no custom of any kind. It would be fair to say that a great many Poles consume food like pigs.
I remember a date I had with a divine looking girl I met when I first arrived in Lodz. I made the mistake of asking her out to dinner. The way she bent over her bowl and threw the food into her mouth, spitting it out at me as she jabbered away, and the lettuce dangling from her greasy chin swiftly eradicated any romantic notions I'd entertained. I shook her off faster than an unexpected daddy long legs.
So, there I was at my place on Friday night with my legendary pasta steaming away. I created a fine salad too but of course it was wasted on my guests as they are brought up on frozen and canned junk and are quite devoid of taste buds. Nevertheless, I sat there aghast as Brunette Flatmate and her halfwit boyfriend shovelled my cuisine into their mouths, spraying the table with red pesto and half-chewed olives. As she prattled on at me I winced at the food sitting on her tongue, she almost elbowed me off my chair as she dived over the table for another helping. It was unbearable, although she spared me from the usual plate licking. Of course I spent the remainder of the evening washing-up, Blonde Flatmate breathed over my shoulder "we'll do it in the morning" but I've come to understand that as "we might get round to making a start on it after three or four days."
I'm forced to deal with a lack of table manners in the pizzeria's and kebab houses but I can't tolerate it at home. They have six weeks notice. They'll be sorry to go as they certainly won't get it so good elsewhere in this city.
Word of the week: Wyprowadzic sie meaning to move out.
